


Edward's Gambit

by Catriona



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bad language used, Edward is a bit mean, Edward taking the fort at Charlotte, Explosions, Fighting and violence, Gen, The Jackdaw, dark humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catriona/pseuds/Catriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Soooo this is my first publication here on archiveofourown.org, and first one ever really online.<br/>Let us know what you think! Looking forward to any feedback/comments. Either way I hope it's as enjoyable to read as it was for me writing it. All characters herein are based on the game Assassin's Creed, and my story is purely an inspired work as a result.<br/>Also, as much as I try to correct and revise as much as possible, I know there's probably some spelling/grammar mistakes throughout  so soz :(. I thought if I continued trying to perfect the story, I'd never get the bloody thing up. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Attack the Fort!

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo this is my first publication here on archiveofourown.org, and first one ever really online.  
> Let us know what you think! Looking forward to any feedback/comments. Either way I hope it's as enjoyable to read as it was for me writing it. All characters herein are based on the game Assassin's Creed, and my story is purely an inspired work as a result.  
> Also, as much as I try to correct and revise as much as possible, I know there's probably some spelling/grammar mistakes throughout so soz :(. I thought if I continued trying to perfect the story, I'd never get the bloody thing up. Enjoy!

The sun glistened off the side of the guard’s helmet; its smooth steel surface looked similar to a still lake, throwing back the sunlight as if it had better things to do. The air was still, in which Gerald was thankful for. The fort had been weathering through a most violent typhoon that had started in the Gulf of Mexico and had ripped its way through most of the Caribbean. His shift was finished in the next hour; just before dusk and the moist filled air was making him itch constantly in his armour. He hooked one finger into his collar and pulled awkwardly from side to side, grumbling as he walked along the perimeter of his lookout post. From his position, he could see the azure blue ocean in nearly all directions. A bird’s eye view showed him the sea spread out before him like an ironed out quilt of calmness, subdued now after the storm that passed. It sparkled winks at him as if it were a tempting cluster of jewels from a treasure chest trying to entice him. The sky was a mass of all kinds of fabulous shades of gold and pink as the sun got ready to die for the day, and Gerald couldn’t wait for his shift to be over as he approached the other side of his post for the umpteenth time. Shaking off his dreariness, he stood at one end of his post where he could see one side of the island that the fort was perched on. His heavy eyes roved lazily over the trees with boredom until he thought he glimpsed something that passed between them. His heart skipped in his sweaty chest. He thought he saw…no, couldn’t be. He peered eagerly through the shrubbery now, dreariness replaced with nervousness, trying to locate that of which he hoped he wouldn’t find. He turned cautiously to one of his fellow guards who was patrolling on the next lookout post beside his.

‘Pssst, Joe! I think I saw a black flag – through the trees!’

Joe rolled his eyes. ‘Ah jasus Ger, you need to stop drinkin’ tha’ rum, it’s ge’in to your head!’ he replied, in a thick Scottish accent.

Ger looked at him pleadingly. ‘I’m serious,’ he implored, ‘I haven’t drank that stuff in days.’ Despite himself, he felt a little insulted at his comrade’s remark.

Smiling now, Joe turned to another guard, ‘Here, Ger thinks he saw a black flag – through the treeees!’ His tone was mockingly impersonating and he danced from one foot to another, howling with laughter.

The next guard, who was fat and burly with a bushy beard to match, said ‘Ah ho! Y’know Ger, the boys tonight were bettin’ twenty reals that you’d stay off the rum for another day before you begin to crack. Do you think that’s true, cause y’know,’ leaning forward in all earnest and seriousness, ‘I want to win that bet. Plannin on getting’ meself one o’ those dancers fo’ the night!’ and cackled. It was stopped short by a fit of coughing in which he then bent over the side of the high wall, hawked loudly and spat. Joe looked back at Ger, grinning.

‘Either that or you need to-’ 

Ger was cut off in mid- sentence by a cannon ball that struck him square in the chest. It sent him flying backwards to be crushed into the fort’s main building behind with a sickening crunch. Ger heard the snapping of his bones breaking from where he stood. He swung around and saw exactly what he expected to see. 

A ship with crimson sails flying a black flag.

It was close enough that Ger could see the mermaid at its prow, her delicate body blending in with the ships. Her upper body was clear of it though, as if trying to emerge from it. Her arms were up above her head, fingers curled and twisted in her tangled hair and her expression was a serene one, as if quietly accepting the fact that she would be forever imprisoned within the depths of the terrible vessel.   
But Ger didn’t feel like being one of their prisoners. Not today. 

Men milled about on deck loading cannons and brandishing weapons, dressed in stained shirts and ragged trousers. He could see what looked like a grinning skull tattooed on the chest of a bald man and he grinned likewise at him. He was also toothless. Ger thought of what that man would do to him if they managed to break in the fort’s walls and nearly lost control of his bowels.  
He whipped around and dashed down the stairs that lead away from his post, taking two steps at a time. Breathing hard, he grabbed the rope attached to the tongue of the alarm bell and with all his might, banged it back and forth as hard as he could. The bell resounded and echoed off the walls. 

‘Piiiiiiiirates!’, he bellowed.

Captain Kenway surveyed the fort’s walls with an experienced eye. If he could take this fort it would be the fifth one he’s conquered in the last three years. His men darted around him on deck, shouts and cries could be heard everywhere as they went about their tasks with a co-ordinated formation, like soldiers reading themselves to participate in the glory of battle. The calm weather was favourable today, and he hoped that it would last. The Jackdaw nearly got bashed to smithereens when he had last tried to take the fort at Charlotte, the attempt was unsuccessful, and not a few too men had died in the process. He had resigned afterwards to be more careful instead of giving into his usual spur-of-the-moment compulsions which too often landed him in hot water. He thought of the merchant he had traded with in Tortuga by the name of Thompson, who had the most luscious daughter with pretty brown eyes…it had ended up with him scrambling across the beach, pulling his shirt on while the hot sand, burning in the mid-day sun stung his feet. He could hear the man’s roars all the way back to the ship in which a hasty sail away was then arranged with Adéwalé chuckling the whole time.   
He took out his spyglass to get a closer look at the front wall that commanded centre of the fort’s defences and which sat between two large turrets. 

‘Adéwalé! Make sure we don’t get too close to that wall!’

‘Ai’ ai’ captain!’ he called from the wheel. 

Edward usually nominated himself to steer his own ship but he had wanted to ensure that he scanned the defences in good detail first without the distractions of directing his ship. Adéwalé has advised him not to attack this fort again; it was amongst the more of the elite kind and was advanced in its artillery, which was obviously down to heavy investment from the British Empire. But Edward was stubborn, he didn’t like losing and walking away. 

While men shouted and scuttled about, he could feel a strong sentiment amongst them this time; they were nervous. He wasn’t completely surprised, since the last failed attempt had left his men (and even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself) a little shaken. Too many of his crew had died in the struggle, and some were permanently injured. Edmund, one of his scouts, had lost his left arm. It was going to take a lot more manpower and gunpowder to take the imperial fortress down. 

The scent of the salty sea breeze could be smelled by each pirate nostril and it nibbled gently at Edwards sandy coloured hair, this along with sweat, as men hauled and rolled barrels and pushed crates of cannon balls. Others were operating the ropes and pulleys for the sails while some were already at their stations, ready to engage. Equipped with sixteen cannons on both sides of the ship, three swivel guns as well as a full stock of mortar, the Jackdaw had undergone some transformation since coming into Edwards’s possession. Through all kinds of plundering of Spanish Frigates and the odd Man’o’War, he was able to build his ship into one of the most devilish and dangerous of the high seas. Pirate hunters, which nearly constantly hounded him in the beginning of his privateer career, now began to dwindle, and few of them ever dared to cross him now. He usually always felt obligated to make an example of those overly ambitious types who would try to further their own careers by taking the legendary Jackdaw and its captain. The last hunter was nearly a year ago, decent enough ship but not enough men loyal to his cause. He had managed to convince the men that being a pirate has a better pay off than hunting them and most of them were seduced enough to cross over to the dark side. Not one bullet was fired that day. Edward smiled at the memory as he remembered throwing the captain overboard to the roars of his men. It was a good day.

While his men milled about amidst Adwale’s screaming, he checked over his weapons one more time. He had gotten into the habit of checking at least twice before going ashore or onto another ship since the idea of grabbing a pistol at the last minute in a lifesaving situation and not being loaded didn’t resign too well within him. Arms spread apart, he shot out his hidden blades and checked his pistols. He finally looked over his slim privateer swords and ensured that he had all the smoke bombs that he could carry. The newest addition to the weapons family was the rope dart that Mentor Ah Tabai had given him. 

He had tried to use it on a Spanish captain last month on a ship which Edward understood to be carrying a decent amount of metal. The man was putting up a fierce fight and Edward had wanted to end it quickly before any more blood was shed. After taking out a marksman from one of the lookout platforms high above, he spotted the man conveniently below him. He was fighting off two of his crew members and Edward had pulled out the rope dart and spearheaded it towards the man’s neck. Unfortunately, it went wide and hit a crate instead, narrowly missing one of his crew’s heads who looked up at him sheer amazement, that, and he had also wet his pants. He had decided after that to lay off the rum a bit more. 

Edward gazed up at the fort momentarily and thought of how the black flag would look, flying from the pole that sat high atop the fort’s complex. He spun around briskly and strode up to where Adéwalé was at the wheel.

‘Get ready, we’re going in.’ He took the wheel from him and he nodded solemnly in response, Edward could tell that he didn’t like the attack.

Edward shouted orders to begin mortar strikes and also chain shots from the side of the ship which was now sailing parallel to one of the defence turrets. It got blasted within seconds and caused a great deal of damage due to the Jackdaw’s close proximity. The mortar struck it, and with quick work on the swivel gun, it managed to hit a vulnerable weak spot. It dispersed into shapeless lumps and crumbled into the ocean below. Men fell as well, wailing in despair only to be cut off by the merciless, bulbous rocks waiting for them at the foot of the fort’s wall. The sea did its usual clean up job for Edward and swept them away, ingesting them into its bowels like it had done with so many who didn’t survive in the Caribbean. 

A cry rose up from the men as remaining remnants of the first defence crumbled into large chunks and dust and simply dissolved away. The fort then retaliated angrily with its own mortar strikes. The Jackdaw nimbly avoided the blasts as it swerved and veered away from the fort as the water exploded behind it. It sailed skilfully away like a devious child that had misbehaved and danced cheerfully and victoriously away from the repercussions. Edward smiled with dark joy. He felt a little recompense from the last time he had failed to take the fort, and hearing his men’s cries lifted his spirits a little.

The muscles on Edward’s arms strained as he laboured at the wheel to ensure his vessel wouldn’t be hit with anything fatal. Feeling his impatience rising for ownership, he screamed once again for mortar to attack the next defence, the second turret that sat on the other side of the main wall. He was determined to restore faith in his men that this attack would garner them more riches, the adrenaline was pumping through him, sloshing drunkenly through his veins which was both exhausting and yet stimulating at the same time. He could feel the same feeling he always felt in combat. The buzz of the confrontation, the unpredictability of the enemy and even himself included. The dance that always ensued then: the glee, the dread, the fascination and the end. He usually won in the end. Not because he was always unbeatable but because he was unyielding. He always made sure that it was his opponents that tired out first before him; let them use all their energy before he gave the big, fat killing blow that ended it all. It was a useful tactic, and yet somehow today was different. He could feel his restlessness to win, to take. He was less patient, he wasn’t disciplined enough to simply bid his time and be clever, he just wanted the fort and he wanted it now.

The Jackdaw’s strikes boomed up into the air, and sailed almost lazily upwards before finally falling down onto the wall. It blasted out a section of it, sending fragments spurting out in all directions. He could see the small black figures of men running around frantically back and forth as they tried to co-ordinate their counter attack against his onslaught. It was obvious to him that he had caught them unawares. A part of him revelled in their panicked frenzy as they dashed around uselessly around like the deer he hunted on some of the islands; he could almost feel the killing instinct coming on, teasing him. He shook it off and tried to focus on the direction of the ship whilst keeping an eye on any further attacks from the fort. 

Once the backbone of the fort was broken and the defences laid to waste, the next few minutes would be critical for establishing dominance by entering and engaging with any surviving men (assuming they didn’t surrender at first) and taking out their leaders, with their senior peers gone there was little chance for further resistance from anyone. 

He heard distant booms of cannons going off and looked further out to sea to see a local ship steering towards the battle, readying itself to assist in the fort’s defence. The wall resounded as it launched more mortar attacks into the air. Spinning the wheel to avoid being hit from the sky, he called for his own mortar strikes in return and to begin firing cannon balls at the closest defence. The centre wall gunned out a string of fire shots that assailed the water just a few metres from Edward’s ship, eyeing it cautiously, he ordered for chain shots to be fired with as much power as possible.

‘English schooner cap’in! She’s a gettin’ close!’ 

He saw indeed the Union Jack flag flying from a ship that was making a bee-line towards the Jackdaw. 

‘Full sail!’ he shouted, ‘cannon shots at that ship, fire when ready.’ 

Speeding along more quickly now, more shots were fired from the Jackdaw at the next defence spat out its innards and collapsed. 

‘That wall needs to be broken! All hands on deck now, this is it men, everything we’ve got!’ he yelled. His eyes were red rimed and stinging from the thick smoke that billowed out from the demolished defences, as well as the cannons on the Jackdaw.  
Taking on two enemies now, the Jackdaw fired at the British schooner that was nearing. The blasts hit home as a few cannon balls ripped through the sides, leaving a few splintered exit wounds. A few members of the crew started to run downstairs with buckets. 

‘No way they’re going to rid themselves of the water filling up.’ Adéwalé commented, as they watched them rush back up onto deck and throw the water over the side. The ship’s hull clearly wasn’t strong enough to withstand the damage it got. 

He quickly turned his attention back to the fort, which would be readying itself to strike.

Adéwalé laughed. ‘Look at them go captain. Like a dog running away with its tail between its legs.’

The schooner turned away in hasty alarm at the damage it had been afflicted with, and decided to flee at full speed. That was easy.

‘Its good business to rule the seas’, he replied, smiling. Then added teasingly, ‘and I thought you didn’t want to take the fort.’  
‘Ah,’ he said, looking wistfully, ‘it’s turning into a bit of fun now though.’ Edward grinned boyishly at him.

‘Whatever’s left of the mortar, blast it onto that wall! Cannon shots, chain shots – everything!’ 

One of the crew turned around, his one good eye fixed on Edward.

‘We would need to get closer cap’in for the cannon shots.’

Edward hesitated. He had wanted to stay away from the wall as much as he could after narrowly avoiding their fire shots, but in the end if he wanted it destroyed, he would need to be closer. 

He whirled the wheel around so that the front of the ship faced the main wall, and started towards it. To anyone watching from afar, they would think the crew mad or suicidal. As it sailed along, sleekly splitting the salty water as it did, more mortar shots were fired out from the Jackdaw. They landed on the wall, causing further damage and Edward could see that it wouldn’t hold out for much longer. He could feel the pull of victory tugging on him again; it was the predatory desire to take. The feeling he was so familiar with wrapped itself around him and infused him with the jolted sense of ecstasy that was enrapturing. Watching the wall deteriorating provoked him with obsession. Taking the fort today was more personal to him than he wanted to admit. 

Edward called for more chain shots to be fired from the front of the ship as it’s prow raised and dipped continuously towards the wall. Some men had appeared at the top of the wall, trying to fire at the crew members operating the cannons and guns. Edwards ordered for the swivel gun to fix on them but just as he did cannon shots boomed out from it, pummelling mercilessly into the Jackdaw at the front and sides. The ship shook a little in absorption, like an approaching hunter pausing in mid action to ingest the blows before moving on. Edward grunted as he circled the wheel to avoid them from being hit again and the swivel gun fired. 

Bullets rained down onto the ship as the guards on the wall started firing, although some went wide, spitting into the water from the captain’s skilful manoeuvring. The shot from the swivel gun had also missed for the same reason though. Some of his men had been hit and were grasping at bleeding wounds, stumbling around deck as they tried to steady themselves. 

‘Swivel gun again!’ he roared.

This time, it hit true and the men firing either fell forward over the battlements or behind the fortification’s walls. With a piercing screech that sent a shock of pain through Edward’s and all of his crew’s ears, the wall caved in, leaving a devastated cavity in the barricades.

The fort was a complete mess. Huge plumes of smoke enveloped the sky, curling upwards to be rid of the desolation below them. Everything looked so broken. The high, once-thought impregnable wall was now in jagged disarray, as if it was a row of broken teeth after a bad scrap. Up in the air birds were circling, the smell of human blood and meat drawing them near. Edwards look was now measured and calculating.

‘And now,’ he said lowly, so only himself could hear, ‘for the most interesting part.’


	2. Showdown with the Captain

Sails ballooned to their fullest extent; the Jackdaw sailed at full speed to harbour near a small beach that was located further down from the main entrance. Thick smoke engulfed the air and rubble and scree were littered everywhere. 

Edward wasted no time as his men readied for shore with a military co-ordination that only came with practice. Anyone would think the captain mad for going alone into the fort ahead of his crew, but his men knew him better at this stage than to express concern. Their captain was known for risky behaviour, and when he walked away from anything on his own, it was always the other party left for dead. 

He dove into the water and swam as quickly as he could to shore. As he neared, he found he was eventually able to put his feet down and started slushing through the water, his arms waving back and forth as he strode awkwardly to the small beach. Behind him, he could hear the distant cries of his crew and the gentle splashing of oars in the water. Breathing heavily, his got onto the beach and his clothes were saturated and stuck to him like wet tissue. He tore off his dark jacket, revealing criss-cross straps for his holstered pistols; his swords were in their scabbards at his sides. He pulled his hood up and looked up at the main gate, if you still wanted it call it that. It was practically demolished and seemed to have exploded outwardly from one of his ship’s missiles, what was left of the gate was all over the place. Beyond that he could barely see into the courtyard past the black smoke that was swirling everywhere inside. He thought he could hear the low hum and crackle of heavy fire burning somewhere and screaming. The place is a mess he thought, good.

He started towards his first target which was the high wall that rose on both sides of the ex-gate. He didn’t want to be lost in the smoke, coming across potential challengers when he really needed to eliminate the leadership first and foremost. Take them out, and the last leg of the fort would go down. It took him a few minutes to traverse over the junk yard of rubble which was strewn everywhere. He climbed atop a particular large one and studied the wall which was only a few feet away from where he stood. Deftly, he leapt across the space like a leopard and grabbed onto a crack in the wall. He then scaled upwards with frightening agility, letting his mind go on autopilot as his hands and feet found crevices that scarred the face of the wall. 

He heaved himself up to look down upon pure chaos. In the glimpses that he could get of the main courtyard through the smoke, which continued to pump relentlessly, men were fighting. Edward found it amusing that these men, who consign themselves to the British crown can quickly become disbanded and so easily jarred at the first sign of a real attack. Dressed in traditional red uniform, they ran around while some efforts were being made to put the fires out amidst the violence. Some senior officials were screaming orders but morale was lost amidst the swelling pandemonium.

Glad for the smoke that helped conceal his presence on the wall; he crouched low and ran quickly into the tower that was closest to him. Inside, he found two men trying to loot a chest. One of them saw him. For a moment’s hesitation he panicked at the hooded, dripping wet pirate that was coming at him with two swords. He then quickly pulled out his pistol but Edward got to him first. In one flourished deadly swipe, the man fell to his knees with his hands clasped around his neck, trying to cap the blood that was spurting outwards. Edwards stepped around him. The other guard, absorbed in his pursuit to unlock the chest didn’t acknowledge the grim scene that taken place only a few feet behind him. 

‘Joe, ‘ave ye go’ a better pick than this?’ the man said in a thick, Scottish accent, ‘Its shit, and the pirates are - ah!’

Edward pierced his sword through the man and pushed him aside. He stood looking down at the chest, feeling his thieving fingers twitch a little. An internal battle ensued, only to be won by his inner Jackdaw, the one that liked shiny objects and had to have them. His more ambitious and serious self shook his head at him as he tried to pick the lock – damn! He was never very good at it. In the end, he stood up and kicked the bloody thing about the place until finally it popped open, spilling out jewels and gold coins onto the flagstone floor. He smiled and stuffed as much as he could into his pockets, his materialistic gluttony satisfied. 

He looked out the window to see a serious looking man emerge from the war room across. The captain was dressed for battle, and when he shouted orders, people listened. Cursing his tendency to open every damn chest that he saw, he moved with more urgency now. He exited the tower on the other side he had come in. Eyes fixed on the captain, he ran fluently along the wall until he was atop a building opposite the war room. 

The captain stood overlooking the melee that was happening below, his steely gaze roamed over the men with stern disappointment. His men won’t be visiting a brothel anytime soon with that look, he thought wittily. He heard cries from the desolated main gate. He looked to his right to see his men pushing forward, surging and spilling into the courtyard and swarming the place like insects. The in-fighting that was going on in the courtyard turned into an all-out battle as Edward’s men clashed and fought savagely with the soldiers. The noise level suddenly went up by a few notches and reached a higher crescendo. 

Edward looked back towards the war room to now find the captain had drawn his sword and was consulting a few men. They flew off in the direction of the fight. Edward counted three bodyguards that remained with the captain. They were all dressed in heavily armoured attire complete with red coats and knee high boots. Edward’s killing aptitude calculated that he would need to strike hard in between the armoured plates with quick precision, and visualised how he might do it. Their necks also seemed to be open enough for an attack. He bent low behind a small wall that ran the perimeter of the building he was on. To his side, he could hear the mixed grunts and shouts of his men amongst the soldiers. Along with that was the smell of determined male sweat as each and every one of them fought for their own survival, but also for something bigger. Edward knew his men feared above all else being captured and spending the remained of their days in a leaky cell. This was the heart of their motivation as they fought, and they all felt it amongst each other – they fought for their freedom. 

With his mouth set in a grim line, his mind blocked out the entire fray going on and focused on the enlightened figure of the captain. He pulled out his blowpipe and dart pouch to remove a small dart from within. The coloured feathers on its end resembled that of a tropical bird’s. Careful not to prick himself with it, he delicately but quickly inserted it into the blowpipe. He slowly raised himself enough from his crouch to peer down at the captain pacing back and forth impatiently. The worry and rage were mixed into a dangerous expression on his face and Edward became impatient himself from watching him. He put the dart to his lips, took aim of the bodyguard standing closest to him and fired. It whistled through the air and punched into its target nicely. The man jumped and swung his arm round to pull it out. Despite his quick reaction, it would have been too late, the deathly liquid would have entered his system as soon as it hit home. The man momentarily stared down at the flamingo dart in his hand in confusion, and then threw his head back and screamed. Whipping his sword out, he swung for the captain, who had managed to jump back just in time before being slashed across the face. Damn, he thought. Sometimes it was easier to get this done with a distraction; however, it would have been more convenient if the distraction had killed his target for him. The two remaining bodyguards advanced and circled the man gone berserk. 

Edward, now alarmingly aware of how quickly his opportunity was slipping away, leaped from the rooftop to drop and land with a feline grace behind the captain. He stalked up behind him, hidden blade fully extended, but a shout from one of the bodyguards cause the captain to whirl around deftly, swiping his blade out as he did so. He eyes narrowed at Edward in spite and rage He took in his dripping clothes, unshaven jawline and the top of what looked like a heavily detailed tattoo that was poking out from under his shirt. The captain knew full well who was now responsible for the affront on his fort. Screaming, the man lunged out in full thrust at Edward’s torso of which he parried with his hidden blade and struck the man’s face with his fist. The man’s nose exploded with blood and gushed down his lips and manicured chin, which only increased his anger and defiance of the pirate brute. Unleashed, he came at him like an animal now, temporarily surprising Edward. He lacked the normal finesse and dashing skill that most men of his rank could demonstrate. Edward had clearly pissed the man off. 

‘Pirate scum!’ he spat through droplets of blood.

Edward pulled out his twin privateer swords and deflected the man’s heavy blows. One of the bodyguards spotted their fight and ran over, leaving his comrade to deal with the tainted, enraged guard who was now frothing at the mouth, eyes rolling. They both tried to circle him, but he backed himself against the wall of the building he had hopped off moments earlier. The bodyguard leaped forward and slashed, but his heavy armour slowed him down and Edward took the opportunity to duck and roll. He sliced the man’s leg as he did so and came back up smoothly onto his feet. The man cried out and instinctively grabbed his injured limb. The captain struck Edward, his deep red cape swinging. He received a shallow cut on his wrist for punishment and his sleeve was ripped. 

A shot rang out closely behind him and he chanced a glance back to see the fervent bodyguard had killed his counterpart. He stood over the body, pistol in hand with a thin stream of smoke coming of out the nozzle. His roving eyes fell on Edward. Without hesitation, he started to take long, brusque strides in his direction, his gait full of lethal determination. Edward cursed the unwieldy side of using the berserk darts. He sheathed his swords and nimbly rounded the furious captain to spring cat like onto a bunch of crates stacked together. He ran the length of it until he came to the wall of the war room. Meeting it at full speed, he pressed his foot against it to propel him upward and grabbed the ledge. A bullet whizzed past his ear as he hauled himself up. He looked down to see the captain pull out his pistol, which was lavishly decorated in fine, intrinsic carvings (making Edward a little jealous) and took aim of the possessed guard. The man saw him and howled. He came at him with his sword held above his head, ready to strike down on him. The captain pulled the trigger and the man fell, sword clattering. He lay on the ground, twitching slightly. He turned his head slowly and deliberately to look up at Edward. He would never forget the look in his eyes. 

With a resolve of steel, him and the injured bodyguard took a ladder by the crates, which was used to help store rations, and laid it against the war room. Edward drew his pistol, and quickly took aim of the captain and fired. At the last second however he moved, and the bullet plunged satisfactorily into the bodyguard’s head behind him. I suppose it’s better than a missed shot, he thought. The man dropped dead. The captain turned and looked down in shock. He then roared in rage as if he had been shot with the berserk dart himself and clambered up the ladder. When he reached the top he stared Edward down. Edward had been counting on that shot, and now he didn’t have a second. He cursed himself for not upgrading his guns. The captain now stared at him with pure hatred and he knew that this was going to be tricky. Pissing off captains was never good for any business that you’re in. Captains were never easy to take out and he was sorry that he didn’t think beforehand of bringing more pistols with him. He had been assuming too much in himself and his remaining weapons. He drew his swords out slowly and concentrated on the beet red face steaming in front of him. They cautiously walked towards each other, the captain maybe a bit more eagerly than Edward, and began to circle. Despite his current temper, Edward could see the captain’s footwork was quite good, every footstep was done with precision and he wouldn’t be easily diverted. We could change that, he thought. Smoke bombs were ideal normally for sticky situations with several assailants, but Edward decided to cheat. He grabbed one from his belt and threw it down hard. The air exploded with smoke and the captain was taken aback, covering his mouth and coughing. 

Eyes stinging, he snarled, ‘Bloody cheating pirate!’

Edward moved soundlessly around so that he was now behind him. He crouched low and crept up behind the captain. 

The man suddenly sung round. 

‘You’ll never catch me at my back! Piece of pirate shit!’

Wielding his sword, he swung down. Edward rolled out of the way at a 45 degree angle, coming up to his feet immediately to block another swing with his hidden blade. He had bet too much on the smoke bomb and the air was already rapidly clearing. He made a dummy jab at the captain, enough to distract him while he backed off. 

‘Bloody captains,’ he muttered to himself.

Cracking his neck from side to side, he decided he wasn’t going to be able to do this the quick and easy way. He stood, waiting for the captain to make his first move. His clothes, saturated as he had entered the fort, were very quickly becoming dry. The humidity and he his own physical exertions saw to that. 

The air blew gently, playing at Edward’s thin wisps of blond hair that hung down from under his hood. The British flag was strung up on its pole and flapped away from its position in the centre of the roof. Edward stared up at it, feeling itchy again. His pirate carnal tendency stirred and he felt the urge to rip it down. The captain followed his gaze, angered by the hunger he saw there he said, ‘It’s not yours to claim! We built this fort! We rule the seas, not traitor scum like you! We’re the only good men left in the world.’

Edward looked back at the man, his expression serious.

‘That’s debatable.’ 

The captain charged at him, striking out for his neck. He ducked and thrusted upwards at the man’s chest, but he sidestepped just in time from being skewered. He used the momentum to swing his sword around again and this time caught Edward’s shoulder. He dropped his sword immediately and stepped back. 

The air stank of the putrid smell of smoke. Edward spat. Despite being around it so much as a pirate captain, he hated the stink of it, especially when it lingered on his clothes. He could feel the uneasy yet tingling sensation of his blood running freely down his arm. He could still hear the distant clashes and cries of his men, mixed in with the chorus of battle behind and below him. Need to finish this quick, he thought. 

He started forward with his remaining sword, face set with determination to extinguish the captain’s life. He gladly met him with the swirl of a quick, clean upward strike, which Edward easily parried and kicked the man squarely between the legs. Bet that’s not a move your fancy officers showed you, he though smugly. He cried out and bent down in agony. Edward slashed at the man’s wrist and the sword clanked uselessly to the ground. 

‘Not very good fencing conduct,’ he sneered through gritted teeth.

‘I’m a pirate lad; there are no rules of engagement.’ 

He finished the man off by giving him the red grin.

A few songs and rum later.....

With Adwale and some of his crew surrounding him, it gave Edward great satisfaction and pleasure to tear down the Union Jack and pull up the black flag that displayed a grinning white skull in its middle. Cheers went up from his men and he could feel their sense of relief and gratification from taking a fort they believed may not have been possible. As he stood there, watching the flag flutter in the tropical breeze, he thought of how much he influenced his men and liked to indulge in the idea that his ambition was contagious. He used not just words, but actions to show his men that the unthinkable could be done, that dreams could be lived. Well apart from those who got in his way, like the fort keeper who he always seems to find cowering amongst the furniture in the war room. Edward thought it most laughable at how many times he had encountered this each time he was victorious in the taking of forts. Huddled there and nearly crawling, humiliating himself in a begging plea to live. 

He wasn’t so lucky. 

Edward smiled.


End file.
